


drabble dump

by craigtherewhoisahomosexual (Ashtarok)



Category: South Park
Genre: Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, More Death, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sickfic, Smoking, Stick of Truth AU, Vomiting, a place to dump these tbh, i'll tag the major stuff ig, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 08:40:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtarok/pseuds/craigtherewhoisahomosexual
Summary: a place to drop the stuff i og posted on tumblr bc "it's not long enough for an actual fic thing on ao3"manyyy pairings and all sorts of dif content





	1. craig? useless, gay, dumb

“I’d like another medium latte,” Craig said, blinking at Tweek calmly. “Please,” he tacked on as definite afterthought, reaching for his wallet with a slightly distracted huff.

They (they being Clyde, Token, Jimmy, and himself) had elected to finally try the new cafe that had popped up on the outskirts of town. The name was…  _something_. But there’d been some good reviews on the Tweek Bros. Coffee Facebook page and Bebe had confirmed the pastries were to die for. Clyde demanded a bear claw, and off they went. The shop was small, decorated nicely, smelled intensely of a rich roast and sugar, and they had immediately been pleased that the music wasn’t too loud.

Tweek Bros. also had an incredibly attractive barista (who seemed to pretty much run the entire store, since they hadn’t seen another fucking soul besides a couple of adults enjoying a quiet coffee in their respective booths) that had Craig’s gaydar on high alert, going for it. His hair was a wild mess like a lion’s mane, barely tamed by a few hair clips and bobby pins, his body was compact and strong, and he had a tic going on with his eyes. Craig thought he was one of the prettiest boys he’d ever seen.

Clyde had immediately caught on to his fascinated stare and started in with jokes about Craig’s type. Christ, the Thomas crush incident was from years ago and Craig was still getting teased over it. So he did the kid’s laundry a couple times. It wasn’t that damn weird.

After perusing the menu, Craig had decided on a latte, and elected to order first as the rest of his group squabbled. The barista— Tweek, said his name tag— had smiled and noted it, and Craig allowed himself to be shoved out of the way for Clyde to order next. He’d assumed that would’ve been the end of it, but (after a surprisingly short wait, since the guy was apparently a force to be reckoned with drink-making wise) when he’d picked up his cup he’d immediately noticed the little Sharpie’d hearts on the lid. A quick glance at everybody else’s cup revealed nobody but him had gotten said hearts.  _Gay._

Craig had sipped his latte quietly, smugly, with the barest hint of disgust curling his lip; he hated coffee, wasn’t sure why the fuck he’d ordered it, but the hearts had made it all worth it. He’d finished the whole thing and immediately gone up for another, batting his lashes and even managing to summon actual smile for Tweek this time. He’d gotten the drawn-on hearts again and Craig had sat down to immediately chug that one too. Clyde had given him a look and Token had muttered something to Jimmy, but Craig ignored them.

Now, he was on number three. Tweek offered him a grin and Craig almost dropped his wallet, fumbling ridiculously over it. Fucking useless, he was. He finally got a five dollar bill out and handed it over, waving off the change before going to stand by the little counter where the finished drinks went. Craig gave an internal cheer as this latte had the hearts too. He didn’t even make it back into his seat before he’d finished it.

“Dude,” Clyde started in, as Craig started to go back for number four. “Stop. You hate coffee. What the hell are you doing? God, you’re so fucking dumb. Why can’t you just ask for his number? Like a normal person? You’re such a dumbass.” Craig didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer, simply huffing and heading back up to the counter as Jimmy agreed with Clyde.

“One small latte,” Craig said this time, actually going for a full-effort smile this time. Tweek looked a bit spooked for a moment, then seemed to shake it off, beaming back and humming.

“Oh no, I’ll upgrade it to a medium for free, you’ve been so kind with your tips you’ve more than paid for it,” Tweek reassured. Fuck. Craig was hoping he’d be able to drink less disgusting coffee, but no dice. He handed over another five and declined the change yet again, allowing himself a small smirk at the increased number of hearts on his lid this time. Craig chugged the whole thing before sitting back at the table with his so-called friends.

“You’ve spent at l-le-least twenty b-bucks,” Jimmy pointed out. “On coffee you d-de-de-des— hate.”

“So?” Craig huffed, looking at one of the little lopsided marker hearts and then glaring up at his friends.

“This is stupid even for you, Craig,” Token sighed, resigned. “You absolutely useless shithead.”

“Look at him; he’s trembling,” Clyde said, shaking his head. Craig stared at him. So he was a little jittery. He didn’t usually drink a lot of caffeine. His belly kind of hurt and his hands were quivering but his heart was happy, so the world could honestly fuck right off. His friends watched in mounting horror as he went up a few more times. By cup ten, his body was done. Craig was shivering, horribly, his teeth hurt, his stomach was swollen and distended from all the liquid he’d forced in, and he was pretty sure he knew every secret the universe held— and they were all bad.

“Craig, you look like shit,” Clyde summed up. “You gotta stop.”

“We’re having an intervention,” Token added firmly. “No more lattes just for the stupid hearts, okay?”

“I’m f-fine,” Craig muttered, surly, standing up and swaying a bit. “Gimme five.” He went into the bathroom, returning Tweek’s little happy wave before the door shut, turned to the toilet, and instantly heaved up all ten lattes. After he was finished vomiting up his entire stomach contents, he wiped his mouth, washed his hands, rinsed his mouth, and left the bathroom feeling much better (although he was still shaking).

“Another, please,” Craig said as he went up to counter.

“L-look— I can’t. I can’t, I’m sorry, ah,” Tweek told him nervously. “You’ve had, jesus, ten lattes, you’re reaching territory even, ngh, I won’t go to, man. And I have a caffeine dependency! You’re not got going to die, right? Oh god. You’re not allowed to, hh, have a heart attack in here, that’s so bad for business! Go outside if you’re having a heart attack, you can’t be on the property if you’re going to die!” Tweek started fussing with his apron and Craig put up a placating hand.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine, I swear,” Craig said, sweaty, pale, and clammy after slamming ten medium cups of coffee and vomiting them up in the span of an hour. Tweek took one dubious look at him and shook his head vigorously.

“Absolutely not. You’re cut off. I can offer you a water,” Tweek huffed. “That’s it. And your friends are cut off, too. I’m very sorry,” his face suggested he was anything but, and Craig fell a little more in love, “but I have the right to refuse service.”

“Homophobia,” Craig blurted. “You’re not serving me any more because I’m homosexual.”

“Are you, ngh, fucking kidding me? _I’m gay!”_ Tweek hissed. “Either take the water or get the fuck out of my store!”

“Uh, well. Could I get the water… and your number?”

Craig, dehydrated, still shaking, but quite smug, left the shop with Tweek’s number in his phone, a water bottle with a tiny heart drawn on the cap, and a group of exasperated friends. Tweek Bros. was definitely worth a second trip sometime.


	2. sidewalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crenny idk

Kenny took another slow drag from his cigarette, staring at the night sky contemplatively. He couldn’t see any stars, the thick smog of the city and all of its light pollution making everything but the moon dull itself into nothing. Fucking bummer. He exhaled a heavy lungful of smoke and looked over at Craig, who was staring down instead. Eyes black in the lack of light, face shadowed into something unfamiliar.

“They’re coming,” he said, casually, like they weren’t talking about their lives. “We have maybe five minutes. Probably less.” Craig calmly shifted his gaze up to meet Kenny’s. “Can I bum a cig?”

“Yeah.” Kenny fumbled them out of his jeans then passed them over. Craig pulled out his own cigarette delicately, tossing the rest of the pack off the balcony and staring fiercely as it splattered into the ground, eight stories down.

“Thanks,” he grunted, reaching over himself to pull Kenny’s lighter out of his back pocket. It took him a second to get a flame; his hands were faintly trembling. Neither of them mentioned it. He touched the flame to the end of it, taking a drag as it lit into a smoldering cherry glow. He blew out a terse sigh then hurled the lighter off the balcony after the rest of the pack. It cracked into a million pieces when it hit the concrete, sparks going everywhere before smoldering out into nothing.

Craig took another puff, blankly looking at the moon as he exhaled a thick lungful of smoke. “I quit last week,” he mentioned offhandedly.

“Yeah,” Kenny agreed, stubbing his own out on the railing and then dropping it onto the balcony floor.

“Menthols taste like shit,” Craig sighed, staring at his own cigarette with evident distaste. “Can’t stand that you smoke them.”

“I’ll change brands,” Kenny said quietly. “I swear it.” Craig laughed and Kenny joined in, but neither of them found anything funny about the situation.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. Never too late, not really, is it?” Craig asked, not really expecting an answer as he dropped his half-smoked cigarette and stomped it out. Petty, he kicked both butts off the balcony. Neither of them startled as loud banging started to come from their hotel room door.

“D’you want a sip?” Kenny offered impulsively, snagging a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the mini fridge. Craig accepted, smashing the bottle open against the balcony railing instead of fucking with the lid. He chugged a shots-worth straight from the jagged top then handed it back to Kenny with a too big, wet around the edges smile. Kenny didn’t drink any, just set the bottle carefully on the floor. His hands didn’t shake.

The banging on the door grew louder, the hinges beginning to creak and whine as the wall shuddered. Craig heaved a long, slow sigh. They waited in tense but not unwelcome silence, Kenny closing the sliding glass door after a moment so the horrible sounds of wood breaking grew muffled and distant.

“It’s been a fun weekend, Ken,” Craig said softly. It was an understatement and his lips quirked at the corners, dimples popping out; a real smile.

“I dunno, could’ve been more exciting,” Kenny laughed. Craig snorted and shook his head.

“You’re right, let’s try harder next weekend. Double the strippers, triple the blow, and let’s square the money, deal?” Craig offered.

“A lot less pissed-off drug dealers,” Kenny said solemnly. Craig might’ve winced, but he couldn’t fully tell. It might’ve just been a shift of his weight.

“Yeah. Like zero, maybe.” Craig turned to him as they heard the door begin give way with a sickening crack. “Come here,” he said, fierce. Kenny went. Kenny always went. Craig kissed him, hard, hungry. It wasn’t gentle or soft and was messy enough they clacked teeth. He tasted like whiskey, blood, and boy. And fear, animal, primal fear, a mouse with a racing heart staring down the cat.

That was okay. Kenny wouldn’t tell anybody. They didn’t bother to properly breathe, greedily inhaling each other as they pressed close, Kenny’s hands around Craig’s waist as Craig clutched at his chest.

Craig finally pulled back, cheeks warm and eyes wild and so, so dark. “I’m not in love with you,” he said softly.

“I know,” Kenny hummed, tinged with sadness.

“I’m sorry,” Craig murmured, eyes darting back at the room, betraying him. He tightened his hands, knuckles whitening.

“You’re not, but that’s okay,” Kenny reassured, taking a deep breath. “You ready?”

“Yes,” Craig lied, voice shaking. Kenny didn’t bother to call him out on it.

“It’s nothing like falling asleep,” Kenny blurted, unable to stop himself. “It’s more like an orgasm. Fast, big, everywhere. Then it’s done and you’re gone.”

“Okay,” Craig said. He reached out and grabbed Kenny’s hand, squeezing tightly, trying to convey everything they no longer had time to say. Kenny squeezed back, then let go as they both scrambled up onto the railing.

It was like they were kids again, playing careless on the sidewalk. Wobble your way on the curb, laughing in the sunshine, pretending you were way up high on a tightrope and one misstep could mean death. Kenny could almost taste the ghost of sticky salt sweat of summer as he stood precariously balanced, the wind rushing past, exhilarated.

“Now?” Craig whispered, throat tight with fear as ice slammed through his veins with every beat of his heart. Kenny felt a brief swell of pity, eyes prickling abruptly with tears. He wished he could tell him it would be okay. It wouldn’t be, and the lie would just cheapen the moment.

The glass behind them shattered.

“Now.”

One wrong step used to mean tumbling off the curb, a scraped, grit-laden knee, big, fat tears on sunburned cheeks, a bandaid slapped over a wound cleaned and stained an ugly brown by iodine. A gentle scolding from Stan’s mom, a reminder to be careful, a slight wariness of sidewalks that was overcome the next time Kyle suggested they play the tightrope game again. No more.

They jumped.


	3. t. twenny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hc that tweek always could see kenny's deaths n shit and they closer they get the more he's affected by it lol

Sighing, Tweek bent over and peered at his paper, happy as the answer came to him swiftly enough. He scratched it in with his pencil, making a satisfied noise, one hand sneaking up to lightly tug and pet at his hair. Despite medication, years of therapy, and plenty of healthy coping mechanisms, some habits just died hard. Taking tests were still a beast and a half for Tweek. That was just how it was on this bitch of an earth.

He quickly scribbled another answer, a bit less certain of this one but nonetheless deciding it was likely correct. Tweek had just started reading the next question when it happened.

It was sudden, inescapable, and horrible. The feeling always started in his chest, his heart stumbling over a beat, making his breath catch at the random hitch of his pulse. Then it spread, slowly to start, a chilling numbness that instantly made him nauseous and shivery. His stomach tightened, and he breathed through a cramp that begged him to heave up lunch. It passed, thankfully, but Tweek grimaced as the coppery taste of pennies filled his mouth, thick and disgusting.

He briefly rested his head in his hands, a shudder racking his form as Tweek took a moment to try to compose himself. The sick, heavy feeling intensified and he hiccuped sourly before forcing himself to function through the malaised haze surrounding him. He took a steadying breath and pulled his journal out of his bag, a small, leather-bound thing covered in scratches, stains, and all manner of knocks a well-used book could get. His hands trembled as he opened it to the very first page, slightly tattered but mostly intact.

Tweek scratched a very deliberate tally onto the paper, briefly squeezing his eyes shut as he breathed through another roiling cramp. His lungs felt like they were in a vice grip too, tight and hard to get any air. There was a lot of tally marks on the page. They were in clusters of 5 and they had covered about ¾ths of the sheet. Tweek knew the count better than his own name, sometimes. 72— no. 73 now. Too many.

Tweek forced his shaky hands to open the book properly, flipping to the next unused page. He checked the time with tired eyes, writing down 1:49pm and then forcing himself to embrace the sickness he was feeling. It was never easy. The taste of blood was back, coating his mouth, and he forced another mouthful of bile back. Tweek’s whole body throbbed like one giant bruise, but it hurt differently in several places.

His palms and his knees and random bits of skin on the front of his body stung, like he’d been scraped up, dragged through grit. His spine twinged, pure agony before becoming nothing, all feeling below his waist suddenly fading into numbness— like he’d broken his back. Tweek’s rib cage ached as if he’d cracked it, his lungs suddenly unable to take in air and leading to him noiselessly gasping, desperate for breath. His heart stuttered and skipped another beat that seemed to last an age but really was only a second. The final feeling was more of a flash of movement and sight and sound than anything, the screaming blare of a horn, tires screeching and the acrid smell of burnt rubber, the sky being so fucking blue— then nothing.

Tweek dry heaved, vision swimming as he sucked in a lungful of air greedily and then rested his feverish cheeks briefly on his cool desk. He was trembling nonstop, but the more intense feelings faded back into a general unwellness rather than the crystal clear suffering of before. Clearing his throat weakly, Tweek forced himself to sit up and write:  _car crash. slower death. lot of pain; back broken, scraped on the road, ribs punctured lungs and heart, bled out. violent._

Then he gratefully closed the journal and cradled it close, surprisingly protective, and gathered his things. Tweek wobbled his unsteady way towards the front of class, clutching his unfinished test in one clammy hand. He handed it to his teacher with a weak half-smile and carefully muttered apology, Mrs. Smith taking one look at him and immediately gesturing towards the door.

“Get out of here before you pass out on the floor,” she huffed. “Do you need a buddy?”

“No,” Tweek assured, stomach tightening against another cramp. “I’ll be okay, ah. I’ll stay after tomorrow and come finish my test, yeah?”

“That’s fine. Now go.” Tweek gave a lazy wave and left, shutting the door and forgoing the nurse. If it was earlier in the day, he’d go, but school was over in another period anyway, and this was a bad one. There wouldn’t be recovery from this in just a few taking-it-easy hours. Tweek knew damn good and well he’d have to take his sedatives and curl up in a very quiet and dark bedroom if he was going to be functioning semi-normally tomorrow. Oh well.

He was almost absurdly grateful the walk to his house was next to nothing; anything more than a ten minute trek at this point would end in him curled up in the nasty grass by the side of the road for a few hours. Heaving a slow sigh, Tweek forged his way home, still holding his journal to his chest. There were a few police cars that drove past him on his way and he watched them go with a lingering stare. They didn’t have their lights or sirens on. That was for earlier. Nobody needed urgency once they were already dead.

Tweek fumbled with his key for a full minute, shivering so hard with such a disgusting feeling of illness and nausea that he couldn’t seem to get the stupid thing in the lock. Once it clicked and the door swung open, he nearly started crying. The quiet, dark stillness welcomed him, like an animal at the mouth of its burrow, and he threw off his backpack and toed off his shoes immediately. Nobody was home; his parents wouldn’t be back until midnight as they were busy with the coffeeshop, not that it would have mattered one way or the other. The Tweaks were absent at best and seemed to completely forget he existed at worst. Tweek was used to it by now.

He stumbled upstairs, beelining for his room. Tweek started to pull off his clothes, getting his jeans down without too much trouble but having to pause, breathe, and focus on not hurling before he could finish tugging off his shirt. Tweek climbed into the shower and then turned it on, trying to clear his mind a bit, maybe help the fuzzy, slightly dissociated feeling he couldn’t shake off. He ended up having to sit down halfway through, flushed cheek to the tiled wall as his head spun dizzily, water pelting him and plastering his hair to his face. Gathering his little strength, he stood and immediately turned the taps off, starting to shake violently as soon as the cold air hit his prone body.

Tweek bundled himself into a towel with one for his hair, pulling a clean pair of pajama pants into his still wet legs and half-falling into bed with a miserable moan. He threw his towels into a damp heap on the floor, then fumbled at his dresser until he procured a small pill bottle. Popping the lid with some struggle, Tweek immediately took two of the heavy sedatives, swallowing them dry before heaving, once, and, after acknowledging the message of complaint from his body, chugging an entire bottle of water. That resulted in another gag, spitting up metallic water before forcing it back down with a disgusted grunt.

He curled up under his covers, still shivering, and buried his face in his pillow with a miserable whine escaping his chest of its own accord. Tweek forced himself to lay as still as possible, his head pounding with a powerful migraine that no medication would ever be able to touch. His stomach ached and goosebumps pimpled his skin. At least the room was fairly dark, the heavy, light-blocking curtain helping significantly, and the whir of his fan for white noise soothed him just as much as the lack of light. The journal ended up cradled between his chilled body and the mattress, and it would stay wedged there until the next morning.

Before Tweek started to try and doze off into a fitful, uncomfortable sleep, he remembered to plug his phone in. He squinted at the light, forcing himself to type out a quick message even as the act made his body scream in protest.

_Kenny: try 2 avoid dyin dring tests, maybe ? bad 4 schoolwork. u owe me a huge hug and apology coffee. sorry… this 1 was bad huh_

Kenny wouldn’t see it until the morning, but that was fine. It was mostly for himself. Acknowledging that he could feel the deaths better now, recall them with more clear details. That he remembered. After hitting send, Tweek gratefully threw his phone to the side, curling up into a tiny, miserable ball. It was going to be a long, rough night.


	4. more twenny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we already know im trash ok

Kenny knew something was off. There were several cues, the most telling being Tweek hadn’t answered his texts in several hours, but there was a general feeling of wrongness lingering in the air. It made him shiver and a seed of worry take root and begin to sprout in the pit of his belly. Radio silence from Tweek never ever ended well.

It was late, considering they had school tomorrow, but that was okay. Tweek wasn’t much of a sleeper. Possibly even that was a modest understatement. Tweek seemed to struggle with getting rest as much as Kenny did with staying alive. He took his coffee so strong and dark and over brewed that you could almost always smell it lingering on his clothes, a bitter miasma that Kenny had come to associate with comfort, warmth, and the tight, shivery hugs that Tweek gave best. Luckily the coffee tasted much better as an afterthought on his chapped lips than the swill Kenny had accidentally drank just once, and never again.

Kenny checked the time, aware he was getting distracted. Almost 1am. That was alright; neither his family nor Tweek’s would give a flying fuck. He pulled his boots on and bundled up tightly I’m his hood before slipping out of his room. He briefly poked his head into Karen’s door, never able to resist checking in, and left her be to continue sleeping soundly in her bed. Carefully, he made his way downstairs, avoiding the creaky stair and then strolling out the front door, ignoring the shitty, blue light of the television in the living room as well as the unmistakable mutters of an angry drunk.

Kenny breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders going loose after he released a tension he wasn’t even aware he’d been carrying. The walk wasn’t long, thankfully. He was glad for the warmth of his parka, drawing the hood more tightly closed as the brisk, late autumn air rushed through the streets, rustling a few leaves as well as the random assortment of litter his area of town was so damn good at attracting. Kenny didn’t at all dawdle, too concerned about his boyfriend, but the closer he got to the Tweak household, the more his steps became leaden. Something was definitely wrong.

Kenny slowed as he reached the driveway, pausing to tug the spare house key out of the large potted plant by the front door. Well. One of the spare house keys. There were five hidden all over the property, because Tweek was terrified of being locked out, but this was the only one he’d been allowed to know the location of. He quickly and almost noiselessly got the door open, slipping in and putting the key in his pocket. The house was quiet, but not the welcoming, peaceful quiet that usually greeted Kenny, a wonderful change of pace from the typical raucous his home was. It was stifled, jagged, unnaturally still.

It was obvious to him that Tweek’s parents weren’t in, although that didn’t particularly surprise him. The Tweaks all seemed to be chronic insomniacs, and more often than not they didn’t seem to come home beyond cursory check-ins. Kenny took his boots off and then made his way upstairs, concern gnawing with dull, rusty teeth at his stomach. He stuffed his mittens into his pocket and rapped their special knock on Tweek’s door as he came to it; barging in never, ever ended well. It was never worth the 30 seconds of saved time not knocking provided, since Tweek would inevitably have a 5-minute freakout in response.

The door swung open without warning, Tweek staring at him wordlessly before shuffling back and allowing him in. That was the only acknowledgement he got for the moment, Tweek immediately resuming what he’d been doing, which was, apparently, having a breakdown. There was an entire pot of coffee on his desk, a quarter full like he’d been chugging it straight from the carafe, an empty pack of Marlboros by the windowsill, and a bunch of smashed Legos on the ground, like Tweek has decided to try and build something but ended up throwing it in frustration.

He was also pacing in a tight, dizzying circle that was nearly wearing a track in his carpet, his shirt was half-unbuttoned and falling off, and there were fresh scratches and little wounds on his face and chest, and visible bite marks on his wrists, so. The way Tweek kept pulling his hair and twitching lent even more credibility to his panic, and the absolutely terrified look in his eyes, pupils wide and almost unseeing, a rabbit facing down the jaws of a dog in rolling horror, would’ve been enough without the mountain of other evidence. Shit.

“You gotta try to breathe and chill out, dude,” Kenny said, putting his hands up placatingly and edging closer. “You been like this a couple hours? That’s not good for you, babe. Why didn’t you call me?”

A slightly hysterical laugh was his answer, Tweek whirling on him with a manic gleam in his eyes. “Kenny, ngh, you aren’t going to help right now! Sorry."

That hurt a bit more than he cared to admit, but he also knew it was Tweek’s mental illness talking. “Well, why not?” Kenny pressed, watching Tweek force himself to stay in place, shivering violently. “I’m usually pretty good at that, not to pat my own back.” Tweek hid his face in his hands with a half-sob.

“I don’t, ah!, know if you’re real,” Tweek confessed through his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut and trembling. “I don’t know if you’re real! GAH! I don’t know if you’re real! What if you’re dead? What if you’re just a, a f-figment of my, ah, imagination? What if I’m just completely insane? Or, or, one day you just— you never come back after dying? And I’m left, what? Ah! Alone! Alone and crazy!” He was rocking back and forth now, biting his knuckle as his eyes welled with tears. “All alone and absolutely fucking CRAZY, man!”

Kenny was at a loss for words, his stomach tight and breathing a little bit hard. He’d seen some horrid panic attacks before, but nothing quite to this level. “Tweek…”

“Don’t,” he choked out, moaning weakly and clawing at his face again. “Ngh, fucking— shit. Or I’m not real? Are we real at all?! Is anything on this fucked, godforsaken, ah, earth real?” Tweek asked, desperation coloring his tone. “You die and you come back, you die, ahh!, and you come back, you die and you come back. Are you dead? Am I dead? Is death even a thing?!” Tweek started to sob, great, heaving breaths followed by hyperventilating, but almost no tears. “How are you so fucking, gah, calm all the time? You die and you die and you die and you— DIE! How do you do this!” It wasn’t even a question, just a shaky plea.

Kenny took a deep breath himself, feeling slightly unsteady. Then he approached Tweek like he was a scared, dangerous wild animal, slow and deliberate. “Five things you can see, five things you can touch,” he ordered, loosely wrapping his hands around Tweek’s wrists and pulling them away from his bloody face.

“You,” Tweek blurted. “Kiwi, his cage, the, nhh, walls, that mini helicopter sculpture! You again, my shirt, ah, uhm, my jeans, the blanket on my bed, the carpet.” His shaking was less prominent, and a modicum of calm was beginning to show in him. Tweek blinked slowly, slumping a bit in exhaustion.

“Deep breath in for ten seconds, out for ten, then repeat. We can do it together,” Kenny reassured, slowly letting his wrists go in favor of placing his hands on a Tweek’s shoulders and meeting his eyes. “You ready?”

“Yeah!” Tweek squeaked, tensing up as they started to inhale together. He began exhaling too early and twitched, cursing loudly and starting to pull away, hands flying up to his hair.

“No,” Kenny said firmly, Tweek freezing and staring at him with wide eyes. “I’ll count for you this time. Ready? Go. One, two, three,” he hummed, counting up to ten, then doing it again for the exhale, as Tweek synced his breathing in time with it. They repeated this several times, until Tweek had stopped trembling, his eyes weren’t just terrified, glassy pupils, and he wasn’t trying to rip his face off. “Better? I’m gonna hug you now, is that okay? Nice and tight, keep you here. You’re not going anywhere, Tweek. I got you, yeah? It’s all gonna be okay.”

“Yes,” Tweek muttered, willingly leaning into the embrace as he wrapped tightly around Kenny in return. He snuggled his face against Kenny’s chest, ignoring the zipper pressed into his cheek in favor of cuddles. In return, Kenny squeezed the hell out of him. Well, not really, but he did get as much arm around him as physically possible and half crush him. Tweek was quite a disassociater, and grounding with skin to skin contact and pressure always assisted him immensely. He had a very helpful weighted blanket currently tucked into one of his drawers, and Kenny would absolutely be getting it out for him in just a minute, but for now a hug was good.

“I’m sorry,” Tweek said in a small, self-conscious voice, breaking halfway through. He sniffled and held Kenny tightly in return, nuzzling into his neck and sighing heavily, body going lax with exhaustion. “I just. Ngh. I just—“ he cut himself off, making a soft, distressed noise. “It’s not fair for me to, nn, put this on you. You deal with enough, you don’t need me exacerbating that,” he mumbled into Kenny’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Kenny said firmly. “None of that. I’ve had a lot more time to deal with this shit than you have. I’ve been dying and coming back for years, you’ve only just joined Mr. Bone’s Wild Ride. It’s alright that this shit freaks you out! That’s the normal reaction,” he couldn’t help but laugh. “Nothing about this is normal, which is why you freaking out about it on occasion is entirely warranted.” Kenny allowed him to pull back, Tweek looking at him quietly for a few moments, then heaving a sigh.

“I’m gonna, ah, take my emergency meds and eat something,” Tweek said, pulling a bottle of pills from his desk and tapping two out to take them dry. He then opened a little packet of powdered donuts, offering Kenny one and eating the other two. Poor thing looked like he’d gone through the wringer, and his eyes were droopy by the time he threw the empty packaging away. “I’m about to crash,” Tweek muttered, looking at him a bit defiantly. Kenny gestured to his bed, unruffled. Tweek stripped down and slipped on some pajama pants, crawling into bed and flicking the light off.

“Are you staying?” he piped up, once it was dark. Kenny shucked off his coat and crawled into bed beside him as an answer.

“Who’s going to make sure you don’t have any nightmares otherwise?” Kenny asked innocently, as Tweek snorted a drowsy laugh and harassed him into flipping onto his side.

“You’re little spoon tonight,” Tweek huffed. “I gotta, mm, I gotta protect you from dying,” he said, voice gone slow and syrupy from his sedatives. Kenny hummed.

“My hero,” he sighed, as Tweek mumbled an agreeable noise, holding on tightly as he nudged his face into Kenny’s hair. “You, ah, smell like m’shampoo,” he said, muzzy and clearly seconds from passing out. “Good. Means you’re real. Means you’re… mine.” Then Tweek was out, down for the count, snuffling soft snores into Kenny’s nape as he struggled not to giggle wildly at the tickle.

There was absolutely no place Kenny would rather be at this moment.


	5. i'm with you through everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we love a sot au style ok

Eleven days.

Eleven days since Kyle stepped up into his father’s place as king following his death at the hands of the humans of Kupa Keep. Eleven days since Kyle had eaten a full meal, or gotten an actual night’s rest. Eleven days since Stan had watched the lively sparkle go right out of his eyes. Eleven long, painful days of searching, desperately, for his best friend underneath this new protective shell of kingship and loss.

 

It was starting to look a lot like twelve days. Stan quietly pushed his plate aside, glancing up towards where Kyle was settled by the fire, endlessly pouring over the notes of the latest attack. He had hardly touched his own meal, giving a few listless, distracted bites before returning to his battle plans. Stan would forever think Kyle was beautiful, in the heart-stopping, fierce way that almost hurt in his chest when he breathed, but he was just a shell of his former self at the moment.

He was pale and slighter than usual— having lost several pounds in these brief weeks— his eyes were heavy and tired, and his laugh lines were almost painfully absent. Stan could so easily picture him as how he’d looked just a few short months ago, too. Glowing, sun-kissed and freckled, effortlessly scaling the tallest of trees to fetch the juiciest apple; Kyle had been something to behold, to cherish, a sweet, summer child with the sun caught in his fiery hair. Stan had never been so lovestruck in his life, all sweaty palms and stuttered breath, just content to observe him in all his glory.

It had always been like that, though, ever since they were chubby-cheeked children chasing each other around the garden and hiding in the maid’s skirts. Stan followed his prince, loyal as a dog, through thick and thin. Any command, any wish, anything he could possibly grant— he’d do it all for Kyle. He knew he’d been lucky to be so seamlessly adopted into the eleven royal family, when they could’ve so easily killed him as an orphaned toddler without a hint of fuss. But truly, Stan thought himself luckiest just by being blessed enough to know Kyle in this wild, magical world.

What could be better, after all, than watching Kyle curled into a stag five times their size and gently, tenderly stroking its muzzle and whispering elvish lullabies in its ears? Getting to see him race the newborn foals through the wildflower meadows, both just as gangly and unwieldy with their legs? Witnessing the unrestrained wonder on his face as he got to exchange advice with pixies and nymphs in the dog days of summer? Nothing.

Well.

Maybe that was hasty. Stan loved the fragile silence between them camping while on a trip to view the outskirts of the kingdom, both curled up in their blankets in the tent, breath so quiet but still so loud in the tentative break of dawn. The way Kyle could— and did— eagerly point out all the constellations when they lay beside each other staring up at the stars from his balcony in the chilly evening of fall. How pink the tips of his pretty, pointed ears got to match the apples of his cheeks when he was bundled up in his heaviest cloak with the ermine ruff in the middle of a blizzard.

All of that was gone now. An almost stranger stood where his best friend, his love, had, now.

Stan took a deep, steadying breath and slowly pushed back from the table. He’d been walking on eggshells for days. After all, he was the imposter here, the ugly cuckoo bird in the nest of warblers. The human. He’d kept his distance, not wanting to trigger any fresh hurt, but Stan had had quite enough of watching his prince— no, his  _king_ — waste away.

”My lord,” he said firmly, huffing a little as Kyle jerked and blearily looked up from his papers. “Your majesty,” he corrected a moment later. His face clouded slightly and Stan immediately relaxed his posture, pulling off his cape and gloves and setting them on the table before approaching the king. “Kyle,” Stan murmured softly, savoring the word like one of the maple candies they’d make from sap and watching the tension begin to bleed out of his shoulders. Kyle slumped, pushing his notes to the side and blinking owlishly.

“My warrior,” Kyle answered, slightly reproachful, mouth twisted. “Stan,” he finally sighed, scrubbing a shaky hand over his face. “What?”

“I have followed you more faithfully than a huntsman’s hound for nineteen long years,” Stan returned quietly but firmly. “Into adventure. Into chaos. Into surefire danger and out again. But don’t go where I cannot follow.” Carefully, tenderly, Stan touched his forehead, briefly brushes his fingers through his unruly red curls. “I cannot follow you into here, Kyle, no matter how I previously have wished to do so.”

Kyle took an unsteady breath that exhaled into a half-sob. “Do not go where I cannot follow,” Stan repeated sweetly, kneeling before his king. “Please.” He clasped his slender hand in between his own, gazing up intensely at Kyle.

“I realize that… what we did happened at a bad time.” Immediately, Kyle flushed, cheeks suffusing with red. Stan was referring to how they kissed, giggly and shy and bumbling as newborn kittens, tucked cozily away in the sanctity of their childhood treehouse. Of how they’d been broken apart from their smitten cocoon to the unearthly, grieving wail of Sheila mourning her dead husband. How hectic and horrible things became so quickly, and how neither had brought up a hint of it since.

“And it’s fine,” Stan added hastily, despite how acidic the words felt on his tongue. “We don’t ever have to speak of it again, if you don’t wish— but I do want my best friend back. Please.” Kyle stared at him with those intense, green eyes, pinning him in place so easily with just a look.

“I want my best friend back, too,” said Kyle at last, the faint ghost of a smile briefly haunting his mouth. “But I don’t just want him. I want more.” He pulled Stan up by his hands, tugging him closer. “I want so much more, Stanley. And what the king wants, he gets,” he added bossily, the faintest flicker of  _him_  shining through his tired, cracked facade.

“You will get everything from me, always, your majesty,” Stan promised. “My strength, my wit, my sword skills. Every last beat of my heart and every breath from my lungs. It’s all for you, and always has been, my love. You will never want for shelter, for happiness, for warmth, so long as I’m alive. I may not be an elf. I may not be royalty. But I am yours, wholly, irrevocably.”

Kyle could only stare for a moment, overwhelmed, shaking. Slowly, tears began to run down his cheeks, and Stan enveloped him in a tight, reassuring hug as the king swiftly dissolved into sobs. He cradled him tenderly, heart fierce in its affection as he soothed Kyle from his grief. It would be a long night, full of many tears, some yelling, and a lot of pain, but in the morning they would still be there and still be them.

It was simple nature. Wherever Kyle went, Stan would always follow.


End file.
